From a Broken Engagement to the Northern Grand Duke's Son-in-Law

“Who goes there?”

The elderly man’s voice carried the weight of years, his wrinkled eyes opening to study our group with calculated interest.

His clothes hung in tatters, his frame bent with age and what appeared to be considerable hardship. Every line on his weathered face spoke of a life lived in shadows.

Behind me, Lancelot began his inevitable commentary.

“This is really the right place, isn’t it?” he whispered to Kai.

“Must be. The young master brought us here,” Kai replied.

“…What if the captain has no sense of direction!”

“Less than you, I’d wager.”

Did they truly believe I couldn’t hear every word?

I turned slightly, fixing them with a look that promised consequences.

“Before I tie you to the nearest tree and leave you for the wolves, perhaps you should close that mouth of yours.”

“That’s just petty,” Lancelot muttered, but his pout carried less conviction than usual.

Kai’s fist found Lancelot’s solar plexus with practiced precision.

Thwack.

“Gah!” Lancelot doubled over, clutching his stomach.

The man never learned. I dismissed his theatrical groaning and focused on the elderly stranger before us.

His appearance suggested frailty, but something felt deliberately constructed about his presentation. I watched his movement patterns, noting the subtle tells that revealed his true nature.

His heels never touched the ground—a technique assassins employed to eliminate sound during movement. The positioning was so slight that only deliberate observation would reveal it.

Barely perceptible at all.

Had I not been suspicious from the start, even I might have missed such careful concealment.

I caught Kai’s attention with a subtle gesture. His hand drifted toward his dagger, understanding the unspoken warning.

The old man was far more than he appeared.

The standoff stretched for several heartbeats before the stranger chuckled softly.

“I’m getting old. To think I’d be caught so easily…”

My companions, save for Kai, exchanged confused glances.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Lancelot asked, still rubbing his stomach.

The old man’s amusement deepened. “That’s the normal response, I suppose.”

“You followed us here,” I said simply. “Naturally, we noticed.”

“Ha. You caught that detail as well?” His surprised laugh carried genuine respect. “Most impressive.”

Truth be told, I couldn’t confirm he was the twenty-second assassin whose presence had eluded my detection.

But no other expert of this caliber operated in the area, and his timing stretched beyond coincidence. Apart from the Veilmaster himself, this old man likely ranked as Death Veil’s most dangerous operative.

That even Kai hadn’t sensed his concealment spoke volumes about his skill.

Looking at him now, a chill ran down my spine.

He reminds me of Father.

I swallowed hard, the comparison unsettling me more than I cared to admit.

If a subordinate—not even the Veilmaster himself—operated at my father’s level, then Death Veil deserved its legendary reputation.

“Since you’ve seen through my disguise, we might as well dispense with formalities,” the old man said.

I nodded. Time spent posturing served no one’s interests.

“I’ve brought the heir. I ask that you open the door.”

I withdrew a circular token from my coat—a coin-sized medallion bearing Death Veil’s insignia. The old man examined both the token and my face before stepping aside with a respectful nod.

“You are indeed our expected guest. Enter. The Veilmaster awaits.”

Creeak.

Ancient hinges protested as the door swung open, releasing a wave of chilling aura that made my companions instinctively step closer together.

We exchanged wary glances before moving forward.

As Kai approached the threshold, the old man’s attention fixed on him with renewed intensity.

“Are you the one who bears the badge?”

“I gave it to the young master,” Kai replied carefully.

“But you remain its original owner.”

The weight of the old man’s stare could have carved stone. Eventually, recognition dawned in his weathered features.

“Yes... that’s right.”

He muttered something under his breath, then performed a deep, reverent bow toward Kai.

“This humble old servant is honored by your presence, Slayer Incarnate.”

The formal address carried the weight of subordinate acknowledging superior—a gesture that clearly unsettled Kai.

“Don’t bow to me,” Kai said, his voice carrying an edge of cold steel. “I don’t want to hear such words from someone I’ve never met.”

He turned around and gripped my arm anxiously. The memory of Death Veil’s previous attempt on my life was clearly still fresh.

I sighed quietly and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before leading my team through the entrance.

* * *

Number Seven, Death Veil’s gatekeeper, remained at the empty threshold long after the group had passed.

“So the master’s bloodline has finally come,” he whispered to the darkness.

Decades had passed since Max—the man who transformed Death Veil from nightmare into something approaching civilization—had walked these halls. Now his descendant had arrived to claim his inheritance.

The old Death Veil and its current incarnation were entirely different organizations. 

Where once existed a living hell of constant warfare, where assassins killed one another as readily as their targets, Max had brought something unprecedented: freedom.

No comrades had existed in the old order—only disposable tools shaped for killing. 

But Thief Master Max had changed everything.

After assassinating the previous emperor and taking refuge within Death Veil, he’d systematically dismantled the organization’s cruel hierarchy, ultimately killing the old Veilmaster and offering liberation to every assassin.

Of course, freedom proved a foreign concept to those who’d known only chains. 

Most remained, unable to imagine life beyond Death Veil’s walls. Nevertheless, Max abolished the old methods and rebuilt the guild according to new principles.

Truly a great man.

The current Veilmaster was both Max’s disciple and adopted son—a perfect successor who’d inherited the role while the grandson claimed the Slayer’s Birthright. Excellent child-rearing, by any measure.

Number Seven chuckled as he gazed into the empty corridor. He too had learned killing from Max, and had gained freedom through his intervention. News of the bloodline’s return nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“Though I’ve forgotten how to shed them,” he murmured self-deprecatingly, shaking his head.

“Much will change in Death Veil now.”

Just as his grandfather had before him, the boy would reshape many things. The current chaos would give way to a new age of purpose and glory.

“Well… Maybe that whelp might prove more important to him,” he mused, thinking of the raven-haired archer who seemed to command the heir’s loyalty so effortlessly.

A hunter who’d tamed a wolf—now that promised to be entertaining indeed.

Number Seven chuckled as he moved toward the entrance.

The massive door closed behind him with thunderous finality.

* * *

Beyond Death Veil’s entrance, a long corridor stretched into shadow-draped distance.

“What is this, some haunted castle? Creepy as hell,” Lancelot muttered, rubbing his arms against an imaginary chill.

His complaint seemed directed at the universe in general rather than any specific person—the man simply couldn’t handle supernatural atmospheres.

And he begged me to take him to the Demonic Realm?

I regarded Lancelot with exasperated eyes and continued walking without comment.

After several minutes of blessed silence, he approached my side and grabbed my arm.

…I swear to God.

“If you don’t release me by the count of three, I’ll use you for target practice. Three.”

“Do I really have to let go?”

“Two.”

Scurry.

Lancelot hastily released my arm and pouted like a scolded child. “You’re really too harsh.”

“It’s your cowardice that deserves criticism.”

“Ghosts can be scary!” he exclaimed, eyes darting everywhere.

Honestly, if the man simply couldn’t talk, he’d be half as annoying.

As I sighed and shook my head, Lancelot crept closer again with obvious stealth.

“But why did that old man bow to Kai earlier? Don’t tell me they’re acquainted?”

“Not exactly. He recognizes Kai as his master’s bloodline.”

“Master what?” Lancelot’s confusion was genuine.

“Kai’s grandfather was a famous assassin.”

“Famous assassin? Who was he?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Max.”

The name hung in the air with appropriate weight.

Lancelot repeated it several times, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Max... Max... I feel like I’ve heard that name somewhere.”

“Don’t casually toss around someone else’s grandfather’s name,” Kai interjected quietly.

“Ah, my bad. But your grandfather was really an assassin?”

“I didn’t know either until Young Master told me,” Kai replied.

“Really? How strange,” Lancelot mused, shrugging casually.

Then, next moment—

“Oh my God, you said MAX?!”

Hans’s voice exploded from behind us with enough volume to wake the dead. He stood frozen, eyes round and mouth agape as he stared at me.

“So who exactly is this person?” Lancelot asked, still confused.

Hans made an expression suggesting he’d witnessed someone claim the sky was green. “The worst criminal who assassinated the previous emperor—you don’t know Thief Master Max?!”

“…Kai’s grandfather is that big of a deal?” Lancelot studied Kai with newfound interest.

Kai’s response carried no pride, only simple truth. “To me, he was just Grandfather. Not the worst criminal, not the greatest assassin. Just an ordinary old man who aged and died.”

The corridor fell silent at his words.

“…Erm, I’m so sorry,” Hans managed awkwardly.

“It’s alright.” Kai accepted the apology with typical grace.

After several minutes of respectful quiet, Lancelot’s curiosity overcame his tact.

“But... does that mean the old man from before knew Kai’s grandfather?”

Had I forgotten to mention that detail?

I grinned at my companions, who were all stealing glances while trying to respect Kai’s feelings.

“They knew each other. Kai’s grandfather was Death Veil’s former Veilmaster.”

“…That’s insane. So Kai’s grandfather owned this entire place?” Lancelot looked around with new appreciation, though his next comment proved predictably tactless. “Doesn’t look that impressive, though?”

…Is he a real psycho?

I fixed him with a stare that could have frozen fire.

He flinched and began muttering defensively. “I mean, I’m not wrong. Just being honest. Is that a sin?”

“You’d be better off keeping your mouth shut most of the time,” I said dryly, shaking my head with a tired sigh. “Unless you’re trying to annoy people to death.”

“…Why of course, sir,” he replied sullenly.

Our banter carried us forward until we reached what appeared to be a massive audience chamber.

The door before us looked like something from a nightmare—rust-stained handles and torn leather creating an ominous barrier.

I swallowed hard and expanded my senses, probing beyond the threshold.

What waited on the other side made my blood freeze.

The most concentrated killing intent I’d ever encountered radiated from that chamber like heat from a forge.

My body’s instinctive response was immediate and overwhelming—every hair standing on end, my Aura Heart pounding with primal alarm.

It was the sensation of prey recognizing a supreme predator.

Turning my head, I realized my companions felt it too, their hands moving to weapons as tension coiled through their frames.

I took a steadying breath and reached for the door handle.

At that exact moment, a voice rang out from within, calm and commanding.

“Enter.”